Filora's Trial of Sacrifice
Posted: Thu Oct 09, 2014 6:22 am
Atticus had wanted to speak to her, so she inquired the next time she heard his voice over the hearthstone if he was available. He indicated he was and that she should head to the Rogues' Quarter in Undercity. Not her favorite destination; but she didn't expect Drinn's Forsaken husband to also be a fan of Silvermoon.
When she walked up, Feorn and Quezt were already there. Quezt was saying, "I came by to pick up some Widow Venom. It seems there's a meeting?"
"Only here te talk te Filora about her Trials. Ye may listen if ye wish," grunted the Dreadweaver. His accent always reminded Filora of Elrioch. He eyed her at her approach. "Filora."
"I suppose I have time," mused Quezt. "I rarely get these social interactions in the cities."
Feorn didn't say anything, though he looked on with interest. Atticus muttered, "I should be so lucky."
Filora looked amongst them, listening to the conversation. She didn't feel a particular need to say anything yet, preferring to watch the others interact, but apparently her silence irritated the Dreadweaver.
"Cat got yer tongue?" he asked.
Filora realized she should come up with something to explain her otherwise strange silence. "It's considered polite to not speak until spoken to by your betters," she said with a smile.
Atticus wasn't amused. "Only woman I let kiss up te me be Drinn. And I did speak te ye, then ye just stared at me like a dog watching a magic trick. Anyway." He eyed her. "Drinn says yer alright and that'd be enough fer me te give ye the proper tabard, but rules is rules."
"That they are," Filora agreed, and hoped that wasn't unctuous.
"The Trial of Sacrifice is upon ye. Tell me, have ye thought of what ye might sacrifice fer the Grim," he said.
Conscious of his, Quezt's, and Feorn's eyes on her, respectively evaluating, blank, and derisive, and collectively totaling five, Filora narrowed her eyes in thought. She hadn't thought much on it. She'd figured she'd wing it when it came up. Now, the truth provided inspiration. "I have thought on it... but little springs to mind. I'm not one to keep much." She spread her hands. "My being here is nearly all I have already."
Feorn let out a cough. Filora looked at him, and he shrugged. Filora looked back at Atticus, who appeared to be thinking.
"I know very little about ye," he said slowly. "There be folks who are simple, and folks who ye can look right through, and then there's folks like you."
This wasn't good. She'd thought she was doing a good job cultivating his opinion of her; not that it had seemed hard. Evidently, she'd assumed too much. Though she became wary, Filora kept her expression neutral as she watched him, carefully reading him as he went on.
"I have seen ye fight and have read yer reports. But I still don't know why ye fight, and who ye are."
When she walked up, Feorn and Quezt were already there. Quezt was saying, "I came by to pick up some Widow Venom. It seems there's a meeting?"
"Only here te talk te Filora about her Trials. Ye may listen if ye wish," grunted the Dreadweaver. His accent always reminded Filora of Elrioch. He eyed her at her approach. "Filora."
"I suppose I have time," mused Quezt. "I rarely get these social interactions in the cities."
Feorn didn't say anything, though he looked on with interest. Atticus muttered, "I should be so lucky."
Filora looked amongst them, listening to the conversation. She didn't feel a particular need to say anything yet, preferring to watch the others interact, but apparently her silence irritated the Dreadweaver.
"Cat got yer tongue?" he asked.
Filora realized she should come up with something to explain her otherwise strange silence. "It's considered polite to not speak until spoken to by your betters," she said with a smile.
Atticus wasn't amused. "Only woman I let kiss up te me be Drinn. And I did speak te ye, then ye just stared at me like a dog watching a magic trick. Anyway." He eyed her. "Drinn says yer alright and that'd be enough fer me te give ye the proper tabard, but rules is rules."
"That they are," Filora agreed, and hoped that wasn't unctuous.
"The Trial of Sacrifice is upon ye. Tell me, have ye thought of what ye might sacrifice fer the Grim," he said.
Conscious of his, Quezt's, and Feorn's eyes on her, respectively evaluating, blank, and derisive, and collectively totaling five, Filora narrowed her eyes in thought. She hadn't thought much on it. She'd figured she'd wing it when it came up. Now, the truth provided inspiration. "I have thought on it... but little springs to mind. I'm not one to keep much." She spread her hands. "My being here is nearly all I have already."
Feorn let out a cough. Filora looked at him, and he shrugged. Filora looked back at Atticus, who appeared to be thinking.
"I know very little about ye," he said slowly. "There be folks who are simple, and folks who ye can look right through, and then there's folks like you."
This wasn't good. She'd thought she was doing a good job cultivating his opinion of her; not that it had seemed hard. Evidently, she'd assumed too much. Though she became wary, Filora kept her expression neutral as she watched him, carefully reading him as he went on.
"I have seen ye fight and have read yer reports. But I still don't know why ye fight, and who ye are."